The Sister (The Boss Book 6)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Change your mind?” Holli frowned. “You didn’t choose to take care of Olivia.”

  “I know!”

  “People are ridiculous,” Holli said, taking a sip of her drink. “I really hope you don’t mind, though, if I ask you for advice all the time. I promise that’s not all our friendship is going to become.”

  “I’m not worried about that at all.” The impact of our conversation finally hit me. “Oh, my god. You’re going to be a mom.”

  Her face lit up. “I’m going to be a mom. I never in a million years thought I would say that.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you dress her in.” There was no doubt in my mind that Holli would go absolutely berserk in the baby clothes store.

  “Deja wants to find a little baby leather jacket.” Holli laughed then turned serious. “Don’t tell anybody, okay? Not even Neil. We don’t know if this is even going to work, and we don’t want to have to explain if…”

  “If it doesn’t.” Our old office assistant—who’d married one of Neil’s friends and wormed her sunny, adorable way into our inner circle—had been pregnant and lost her baby, and it had been heartbreaking for her to tell us after it had happened. I could see why Holli wouldn’t want that same experience.

  “Your secret is fully safe with me.” I crossed my heart. Then, I perked up. “Can you imagine how great Deja is going to be at maternity fashion?”

  Holli laughed. “Leave it to you to focus on the really important stuff.”

  ****

  That night, after Mariposa had put Olivia to bed and turned in, herself, Neil and I settled in on the sofa in the den and turned on the television.

  “We are not watching that stupid vampire show.” He cradled my bare feet in his lap, holding them together in one big hand. Probably waiting for the perfect moment to hold me hostage with the promise of a foot rub. “Or any other show with a mildly paternal British father figure in it.”

  “Okay, one, it’s not ‘that stupid vampire show’. Two, you will show Buffy the Vampire Slayer respect in this house. And three, you wish you could be as hot as Giles.” I sighed. “If you’re going to be Mr. Picky, you find something. Something that won’t threaten you as a man.”

  “I am not threatened by men in tweed.” He lifted my feet out of his way to stand. “But you reminded me. I did find something.”

  “Oh?” I put my feet flat on the couch cushion he’d just vacated. “Interest piqued. What is it?”

  “I’ll show you.” He left me alone, and since I didn’t know how long he would be gone, I flipped through channels until he returned.

  In his hand, he held something like a miniature rake, with very wobbly wire tines. There were long ones and short ones, all sprouting from a thin wooden handle. White plastic drops coated the tips, like the kind I loved to pull off hairbrushes.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” I said, hitting the power button on the television.

  Neil beamed proudly at his weird find. “It’s a ‘massage tingler’. I found it at the health food store, and I thought it looked interesting.”

  “So, it’s a massage tool?” I perked up at that. “Are you going to give me a massage?”

  He sat beside me and said, “Give me your arm,” while he took hold of my wrist, anyway. He turned it palm-side up and trailed the metal tines over my skin.

  “Holy—” I jerked my arm away, laughing. It was like being tickled. If tickling made you feel like you just had a strangely located orgasm.

  “Isn’t it bizarre?” He did it again. “I thought you might like it.”

  “I think I do?” I watched as he dragged it from my wrist to my inner elbow then lifted it and started all over. “I can’t tell if it’s tickling me, or…”

  “Shall we test it, then?” he suggested, leaning forward to brush my ponytail away from my neck. He leaned in to kiss my neck and said low, “Stand up.”

  My nipples tightened, making dark, obvious points against my pale pink T-shirt. I straightened it as I stood and turned to face him.

  “Undress for me.”

  I pulled my shirt over my head, baring my breasts. Sometimes, I wowed him with racy lingerie. Most of the time, it was just this. But even in my after-work “fuck it” clothes, he made me feel sexy. When I pushed my yoga pants down, my underwear went with them.

  “Bring me your panties,” he said, nodding toward the puddle of clothes at my feet. I reached down slowly to retrieve them and handed them to him.

  He tucked them into the pocket of his jeans. “All right. What should we put on the telly?”

  I frowned. “Sir?”

  He pointed the remote at the television and changed the source. He had quite a collection of adult entertainment saved to a local server in the basement. I didn’t know what that meant, aside from being able to access it from any television in the house, but not over the internet. That was my number one main concern, and he’d allayed all my fears.

  I wasn’t afraid someone would find out we had dirty movies.

  I was afraid someone would find out we had dirty movies of us.

  He selected that folder and scrolled through the several—okay, many—videos available.

  “What do you think?” he mused, pausing on one. “Very rough, or…” He flicked to the next one. “No, something a bit more gentle.”

  He clicked the button, and the screen filled with an image of me, stretched out on the creme-and-gold bed in the Pavillon. The lighting was warm, and I’d had a fantastic tan; my naked profile was burnished and glowing. A white sash covered my eyes.

  Oh, I remembered that night.

  That was my birthday last year.

  “Are you excited to find out what your present is?” my Sir asked from the television.

  “Yes, Sir,” I responded from the bed.

  “This video was more a present to myself than to you,” Neil observed beside me. He tugged at my ponytail. “Take this down.”

  I reached up and pulled my hair free. He took the hair tie from me and pocketed that, too.

  “Now, hold very still and watch.” His hands slid into my hair, fingers splayed to cup the back of my head and rub circles over my scalp as he talked. “What do you see in the video, Sophie?”

  “Myself,” I answered, and when he cleared his throat, I tacked on, “Sir.”

  “That isn’t a very thorough answer. Describe yourself.” He combed through my hair with his fingers, gently loosening the places where it tangled, until the long, dark locks cascaded over my shoulders, breasts, and back.

  I studied my image on the screen. “My hair looks good. And I look good naked.”

  “Not the kind of description I had in mind,” he admonished. “Look closer. Tell me what you see.”

  I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I see a woman who wants to be fucked.”

  He touched the tips of the massager against my back, and I jumped. Somehow, the electric tingles made me feel more exposed than my nudity.

  He leisurely traced the implement down my back. “How can you tell she wants to be fucked?”

  “S-she’s waiting. Like she’s been told.” The intense tickles made my knees weak. “Her legs are spread, so she can be ready for whatever he wants.”

  “He?”

  “You, Sir. She’s ready for you.”

  The massager moved in a steady trail around my waist as Neil circled me. “What does she want?”

  “To please him.” I licked my lips and quickly corrected myself. “To please you.” God, the electric tingles the device raised on my skin were like a feather on steroids.

  “And what do you want, now?” He drew the instrument up my side, around the outer curve of my breast, and I had to will myself not to move.

  “I want you to touch me.” I squeezed my thighs together.

  “Where?” He used the massager to tickle up the center of my body, between my breasts.

  “Everywhere, Sir.”

  “Sit down. Lean back and spread your legs,” he ordered. “As wide as you w

ould with the bar. Expose yourself for me.”

  The cool air hit my parted flesh, and a rush of heat flooded my cunt. The thought of how those metal tines would feel skittering over my spread vulva made me break out in shivers. Every nerve in my skin sent signals of anticipation to my clit, promising new and bewildering sensation.

  Instead of doing it himself, Neil handed me the implement. “Now, Sophie, you’re going to use it on yourself.”

  I made a noise of disappointment.

  “What, you thought I would do all the work?” He clucked his tongue. “Sophie, I merely want you to pick up where I left off.”

  In the video, my Sir brought out a long glass dildo. Ridges twisted up the sides, and it ended in an angled glass head, flat like the tip of a thumb but wider. He’d touched the surface to the skin between my breasts, and my body had bucked. Seeing it happen on the video brought back the physical sensation.

  “Sophie,” Neil reminded me in the present. “I gave you an order.”

  I placed the cool plastic tips at my collarbones and drew them down, between my breasts and over my stomach, closer and closer to where all my thoughts centered, where need lay heavy in my flesh.

  “What are you doing?” Neil asked, and my eyes opened. He still stood beside me, gazing down with a disapproving expression.

  “I was using it on myself, Sir.”

  “Not there, you won’t.” He took it from my hand and placed it on the inside of my knee. “You may use it here…” He dragged it up my thigh slowly, but stopped short of brushing against my labia. He changed direction and trailed it over my hip then along the border where my panties would usually fall. “This is fine. But this…”

  My body tensed as he placed the tines below my belly button and began to pull them downward. The prongs skated over my mound, through the neat strip of my pubic hair, so, so close…

  “But not here.”

  I don’t know why I let myself get my hopes up every time.

  Still torturing myself with the massager, I watched the screen, fascinated at the reaction that rippled through me as he pushed the dildo slowly inside me. I watched my toes curl, my calves clench, my thighs tighten, and I could almost feel the shocking cold of the glass inside me. The stretch of my muscles flowed with the movement of his arm; shuddering stomach, arching back, rising breasts. My hands had flown above my head, my fingers had kneaded the duvet, and my mouth had frozen wide open in a guttural exclamation of shocked pleasure.

  “I will never cease to be amazed at how fucking gorgeous you are on camera,” Neil said, a little breathless. I turned my head slightly. He sat in the armchair, positioned perfectly so he could split his attention between me and the television with minimal effort. He’d unzipped his jeans, and he stroked his huge cock in his fist as he watched the screen.

  I agreed with him, totally. The first time we’d made a video, it had been my idea to film it, so it hadn’t made me too nervous at the time. Watching it, though, had been decidedly different. I’d been painfully shy and embarrassed, until I’d seen what I assumed Neil saw, too: a being of pure sex and lust contained in a body made for limitless pleasure.

  That’s what he did to me, what he turned me into. Even now, sitting feet away from me with his cock in his hand, he controlled my desire, stoked it hotter with a stern glance. “You aren’t supposed to be looking at me. You’re supposed to be looking at the screen.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I turned my attention back to the television.

  “You’re supposed to be remembering how that felt,” he went on. “Do you remember how good it was? How it filled you up?”

  I moaned. It was a really big toy; I wished I had it, right now. The feathery touches of the massager weren’t enough. “I remember, Sir.”

  “How do you feel, now?”

  “Frustrated,” I whined.

  “Because you want to come?” he asked?

  “Because I want you to touch me, Sir,” I told him, not caring if my honesty would earn me a smack on the ass or not. Either way was fine, just as long as he put his hands on me.

  “You’ll get what I see fit to give you,” he said, but he rose from where he sat and came to the couch. “Lie back.”

  Couch sex wasn’t always the most comfortable, but I was desperate for him and far from complaining.

  It seemed to take him forever to undress. I reached up for him as he lowered himself over me. The video on the screen no longer held my attention once his skin met mine, and his cock brushed against my labia. He sank into my cunt so slow and sweet, a ripple of pleasure moved through my body, contracting my muscles in a steady progression.

  We moved together at a leisurely pace, feeling every inch of each other. There was no need to rush, no urge to fulfill that couldn’t be met in its own time. I wriggled my hand between us to stroke my clit, bringing myself to a gentle climax that suffused me with warm, loving energy. Neil shuddered above me, riding the last waves of my orgasm to his own release.

  Held above me on his elbows, he kissed me, still moving inside me until he couldn’t take any more.

  “Oh! The couch!” I gasped as he pulled out, but he scooped up his T-shirt from the floor and slid it under my butt, saving our upholstery from any potential wet spot. He pulled on his jeans and sat at the end of the sofa.

  “What was that for?” I stretched happily and put my feet back in his lap.

  “Do I need an excuse to fuck my gorgeous wife?” He picked up one of my feet and gently worked his thumbs into the arch.

  “Not an excuse, no.” I moaned as he increased the pressure. “I just thought you might not want to, right now. Because…you know.”

  He turned off the television with a frown. “Why? Because El-Mudad isn’t here?”

  I shrugged. “I feel a little guilty, being intimate with you when we can’t be with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong. We’re still going to have sex. I’m not willing to give that up. But now…”

  “Someone feels like they’re missing.” Neil nodded in understanding. “I never thought that would be possible. I thought you were the only person I would ever need.”

  “Me, too.” I chewed my bottom lip as I thought. “But, like, what if it doesn’t work out? The three of us, all together? Would you still feel like something was missing between us?”

  “Absolutely not,” he stated without hesitation. “I’ve never felt as though anything was missing between us. And with everything… Well, I feel as though we’re stronger than we’ve ever been. I would be heartbroken if we lost El-Mudad. But I would never find you and me lacking.”

  Maybe that was what I’d needed to hear, without realizing it.

  “I feel exactly the same,” I promised. “You’re my true love. And he is, too. I think we can do this.”

  “I think we can, as well,” he said, glancing up my still-nude body. “Aren’t you cold?”

  An email notification chimed on my phone. I reached for it and slid my finger across the lock screen. “No. And it’s kind of nice, actually, to—”

  His hands paused in their work, and he looked up. “Something wrong?”

  I wasn’t sure. Because the email was from Susan, and the very first sentence my eyes skated over was, She’d like to meet you.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I looked up from the small plane window. Beneath us, the cars speeding around the highways of the Detroit Metro area glittered. We’d be landing, soon, and making the drive from DTW to Ann Arbor, where I’d meet my little sister for the first time.

  With a heavy sigh, I leaned my head back on the seat. “I’m thinking that I’m going to meet this girl and not live up to whatever expectation she has of me. I’m thinking that we’re going to meet with the transplant surgeon tomorrow, and he’s going to tell me that I’ve let them turn me into a pincushion for nothing. I’m thinking that I’m going to let these people down, and they’re never going to want to see me, again.”

  Neil kissed the top of my head and rested his cheek against it. “I wish there was something I could say to allay these worries. Some reassurance—”

  “I know there isn’t.” And it didn’t help to talk about how futile my worries were. “Right now, I’m trying to think positive. I’m going to meet this girl, she’s going to love me, and I’m going to be able to give her my kidney.”

  I kept repeating that mentally from the plane to the car to the hotel. We’d gotten suites for ourselves and for Molly and Susan and their mother at Weber’s Inn. Neil had suggested we pick two different hotels, in case the meeting didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped, but I’d shot that down. I didn’t want to seem like I wanted distance, or thought I was too good for them. When our hired car pulled up beneath the hotel’s ultra-modern awning, my guts churned.

  “Are you ready?” Neil asked, pushing his door open.

  I forced myself to calm down. I didn’t need a horrible bout of nervous diarrhea right before I met them. We’d made arrangements to meet in the Habitat Lounge, one of the hotel’s restaurants, for lunch. Neil generously tipped the bellman who met us beside the car and entrusted him with getting our luggage to our room, so we could go directly to our meeting.

  “We’re late,” I mumbled under my breath as we crossed the stylish lobby. Everything was brand new, with just a pinch of retro-chic, from the hanging lights with cylindrical black shades above the sleek wood-paneled front desk to the messy looping brown, gold and creme pattern on the stiff armchairs beside the slim rectangular fireplace. A seating area faced huge windows with views of a meticulously landscaped outdoor space.

  “We’re ten minutes late, dear. Considering air travel and a drive were involved, I’m sure they’ll understand.” Neil frowned and tugged at the sleeve of his blue linen sports coat. We’d changed on the jet, so we’d look more presentable. He’d paired the jacket with a salmon-colored plaid print button-down and jeans, and gorgeous brown leather loafers.

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